


Stop Throwing Alphas at the Problem

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Avengers UnPacked [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mental Instability, Multi, Omega Verse, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23052184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Look, people are still encouraging me to have fun in this A/B/O AU, so that's what I'm doing.  You haters leave me alone.  It's playtime.~~~“Look,” grunts Harley, teeth gritted around the stylus in his mouth, “I ain’t saying you’re wrong but listen to me, this ain’t right.  He’s not- this is not within the pattern for him, okay?”“What do you mean?” asks Tony in exasperation.  “He is a human murder machine, you’ve spent the last three months telling us you can’t find a pattern, what do you mean his current behavior isn’t within the non-existent pattern you can’t find?”
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Darcy Lewis/Jane Foster/Thor, Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Avengers UnPacked [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623790
Comments: 24
Kudos: 96





	Stop Throwing Alphas at the Problem

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is what happens when I read a recommended story that turns into reading TEN A/B/O fics, find out that there are no RULES for this shit, and decide, "Well, fuck it, if everyone's having fun in this sandbox, I'm going to, too."
> 
> You don't have to like it, I promise. But I had a whole lot of fun writing it.
> 
> Beta'd by my brave jf4m and mindwiped, who are easily the most courageous people on the planet, because I threw this at them and said JESUS CHRIST I DON'T EVEN KNOW. I'M SORRY, and then they corrected my spelling and caught my errors like the pros they are, anyway.
> 
> I've put links to the fics I read to learn about A/B/O in the end notes of the first story.
> 
> Every remaining mistake and all the broken things about the rules of this AU belongs to me. Me and 3 AM, baby.

Day 1, Mission 47, scheduled self diagnostic.

The asset is operating at peak capacity.

The outside temperature is within ideal tolerance levels.

Surrounding threats, environmental: None identified.

Surrounding threats, human: None identified.

Mission status: Acceptable progress, within stated parameters, “Find the snooping asshole and take him out before he blows our cover.”

The asset does not sigh. This cover identity does not need to take that action in order to blend in. Aberration noted.

~~~

Day 2, Mission 47, scheduled self diagnostic.

The asset is operating at peak capacity.

The outside temperature is within ideal tolerance levels.

Surrounding threats, environmental: None identified.

Surrounding threats, human: None identified.

Mission status: Acceptable progress, within stated parameters, “Find the snooping asshole and take him out before he blows our cover.”

The asset chews the ration bar, glowering at the asset’s reflection in the store window, and acknowledges a desire to _cut its throat._ The asset debates whether such an action will help it achieve Mission 47.

It will not. Aberration noted.

~~~

Day 3, Mission 47, scheduled self diagnostic 

The asset is operating at peak capacity.

The outside temperature is within ideal tolerance levels.

Surrounding threats, environmental: None identified.

Surrounding threats, human: None identified.

Mission status: Marginal progress, within stated parameters, “Find the snooping asshole and take him out before he blows our cover.”

The snooping asshole is female. Alpha. Experienced. Connected to unknown resources. The asset has scented her.

The snooping asshole alternate designation accepted: alpha female. Alpha female threat profile: High. No data attached. Aberration noted. Thirty-third aberration since mission start, asset functionality re-assessment: Aberrations non-critical. No need for reprogramming. 

~~~

The asset catches a glimpse of red hair, powerful lithe body, before the mission disappears into a crowd, one hooded black sweatshirt in a sea of them.

The asset feels an unnecessary spike of adrenaline and frowns. Aberration noted. 

Red hair. Alpha female. Professional. Physical condition strong, highly capable. The details are added to the alpha female’s mission profile.

The asset considers the alpha female’s unknown resources. Probability alpha female is solo operative: low. Probability alpha female will be replaced after termination with another _snooping_ _asshole_ : high.

Mission expansion accepted. Safety threshold overridden. Mission is top priority. Safety overrides accessible within parameters “take him out before he blows our cover.” HYDRA must not be revealed. Asset safety override accepted.

The asset experiences another spike in adrenaline. The asset sways dizzily. Aberration noted.

~~~

Day 9, Mission 47, scheduled self diagnostic 

The asset is operating at acceptable capacity. Asset safety override engaged.

The outside temperature is within ideal tolerance levels.

Surrounding threats, environmental: None identified.

Surrounding threats, human: None identified.

Mission status: Marginal progress, within stated parameters, “Find the snooping asshole and take him out before he blows our cover.”

The asset cannot tail her. She allows herself to be seen and the asset cannot tail her, cannot assess her connections, her handlers. She is operating at peak efficiency and the asset is “a goddamn glitchy Cold War relic” fit only for “fucking and flinging in front of the canon.” The asset feels a spike of adrenaline so strong the asset’s hands form fists. Aberration noted. One-hundred fifty-seventh aberration since mission start, asset functionality re-assessment: Asset safety override engaged, no reprogramming allowed.

The asset hears a voice shouting, “Today we die like men.” The voice is not audible. Aberration noted.

~~~

The red haired alpha female is joined by another man, obviously alpha. The alpha man is… overwhelming. The asset acknowledges the aberrations that cascade as he watches the pair stand under a street lamp. Mission holds top priority. Safety override engaged. No reprogramming allowed.

The asset chooses not to waste resources performing a diagnostic that will not alter the way things are going to fall out between ‘em. Aberration noted.

The asset turns away and slips into the night, hands shaking. Seven-hundred, nineteenth aberration since mission start. Mission holds top priority. Safety override engaged. All available resources subordinated to mission. Aberration count discontinued.

 _Finally_. Fucking _A_.

~~~

Having two should make it easier to tail one of them. The male is huge, unusually proportioned, and people respond to him in a unique fashion. All of those facts should make it easy to follow him back to his base, take stock, assess weaknesses.

It doesn’t.

The asset trails a block behind them, noting the difficulty, allowing the threat level of the alpha male to exceed previous allowed parameters. The asset’s lips twitch as he assigns the alpha male to a new designated threat level: Alpha. There is no need to track aberrations.

The asset listens to a voice state, “Just wanted to be useful for once, Buck, instead of broken.” The voice is not audible. Aberration tracking disengaged. Reprogramming not allowed, mission is top priority.

The asset can smell a faint trace of apple pie. It makes the asset’s mouth water.

_Fuck._

~~~

“Look,” grunts Harley, teeth gritted around the stylus in his mouth, “I ain’t saying you’re wrong but listen to me, this ain’t right. He’s not- this is not within the pattern for him, okay?”

“What do you mean?” asks Tony in exasperation. “He is a human murder machine, you’ve spent the last three months telling us you can’t find a pattern, what do you mean his current behavior isn’t within the non-existent pattern you can’t find?”

Harley blows out a breath before he starts growling. Growling at Omega is just a really, really stupid thing to do. Peter grimaces at him sympathetically but doesn’t jump in, _thanks, sib._ “He’s been out for like, two, two and half weeks, maybe three, we don’t know. That’s not, he should have done- _whatever-_ and been back on ice by now. Natasha?” He nods at Natasha, hoping she’ll have more ways to explain.

“He is so efficient, Tony,” she agrees. “He’s not reconnaissance, you don’t use a tool like him for watching and waiting, you send him in for the strike once you have all of the facts. And this, his scent, it’s everywhere in that neighborhood, like he’s been there and doing exactly that, Tony. He wasn’t _designed_ to hang around in one spot for even a few days. Quick hits, known parameters. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not right. Harley’s right, it’s not right.”

“So he’s operating outside of his usual mission,” interrupts Steve, leaning in. “He’s on shaky ground. I caught a flash of him last night, trailing us by one, maybe two blocks. Sloppy, he’s getting sloppy.”

“I have also seen him, glimpses,” Natasha states firmly.

“Do you think he’s fighting his programming?” asks Bruce doubtfully.

“Maybe,” says Peter, looking at Harley. Harley shakes his head, doubtful. It’s a nice thought but yeah, not likely.

Natasha purses her lips. “Fighting it? Yes. All of the time. His final report, the time I watched it, they punished him for attempts to break through the programming. Overcoming it?” She frowns, considering her own question and then shakes her head. “It has lasted through so many missions already, so many awful things, so much red in his ledger.”

“Not his ledger,” Clint puts in firmly. “Tools don’t have ledgers.”

She shrugs her shoulders at him, it’s clearly a long-standing argument between them, and says, “They have had him for decades, since the thirties or forties. Why would he overcome the programming now?”

Harley chews on the stylus a bit. “Yeah, but look, y’all caught glimpses of him. That’s sloppy. He don’t do sloppy.”

“Perhaps,” says Natasha slowly. “Perhaps he _recognizes_ or, or _remembers._ Me.” She does not look pleased by the thought, Harley notes.

“God,” gasps Peter, “I hope not, can you- I mean, you look at the SHIELD files that got dumped, he’s been _tortured_ , Nat, I sure hope he’s not remembering or recognizing anything.” Harley agrees wholeheartedly. He’s spent so much time with the data, more time than anyone else, and he wouldn’t wish that kind of treatment on someone born a human murder machine. The things that were done to the guy have killed every other, uh, attempted human murder machine, and for good reason. It’s crazy shit.

Natasha shakes her head and says, “The other option is that he has found a way to overcome his programming.”

“If his original conditioning was in the forties,” says Bruce reluctantly, “and everyone since then has just been, uh, following in that pattern, there’s a possibility that we’re seeing some of the same breakdowns in conditioning from the others’ files. The, uh, the ones from the forties, the other, uh, experiments.”

Harley could throw up, he decides. “So we need to find him, fast,” he says, in the pause, because someone needs to say it. A targeted murder machine is one thing, a murder machine on the fritz is a whole other category of danger with potential for civilian casualties.

“I’ll go with today,” says Tony abruptly. Steve grunts disapproval. “No, listen, sweetcheeks,” Tony says, flippantly and awfully, it makes Harley’s stomach feel even worse, the way the omega is standing there, head tilted, his eyes sharp on Alpha’s face, “he’s been tortured _by alphas_. Nothing in that file about omegas. They usually send him after alpha targets, my mom was one of three tangential omega kills and he was arguably doing her a favor after the accident. And I guarantee you he hasn’t had an omega in eight decades or so, the way they’re handling his rut is actively messed up.”

“He’s wildly unstable and unsafe,” says Steve in exasperation. “You can’t, you can’t expect to pick him up like an alpha at a club, Tony.”

“Did I say I was going alone?” chuckles Tony, shaking his head, looking up at Steve through his lashes. “He wouldn’t believe that, anyway. You’ll be right there, you’re the ones who have his attention. I’ll just be a sidenote that’ll get us more data. Stop throwing alphas at the problem.”

“I mean, that’s my original plan,” points out Clint with a sharp smirk. “I just want it on the record, Tony’s suggesting we follow _my original plan_.”

“Shut up, Clint,” say Natasha, Steve, Harley, and Tony in unison. He smiles back at them broadly. Natasha slaps him across the head, just for emphasis.

Steve looks at Tony. Tony spreads his arms wide and says, “It’s a new idea, it’s something you haven’t tried yet.”

“I don’t like using people as bait,” grits Steve. “I don’t like using _you_ as bait.”

“But how else are we gonna catch this alpha fish?” asks Tony guilelessly, shrugging his shoulders. “Offering him free therapy?”

“I’m down to try that,” says Sam. “I’m not exactly comfortable with the sacrificial omega routine, myself.”

“No volcanoes,” coaxes Tony. “Not going to be tied to anything. Just coming down with you, just going to scent up the place a bit, see what happens.”

“There are omegas everywhere in the world,” says Steve. “He’s never responded to a single one of them, what makes you think you’re different?”

“Because he _follows you_ ,” says Tony sensibly, and Harley nods. That’s true. He does seem fixated on Natasha or Steve or both of them. “And I’ll be _your_ omega. You can both over-scent me, make me reek of you, in fact. If nothing happens, nothing happens, and we’ll know Clint’s an idiot.”

“Hey,” protests Clint, with a small smile. “You already know that.” Bruce slants a smile up at him, Harley catches it, and shakes his head at Clint, who actually colors a little at the non-verbal praise from his mate’s omega.

“No filters, I want to be able to tell you to get out of my way if I need to,” Steve says firmly.

Tony shakes his head, “No, I need the filters, Steve, we’ve talked about this. That’s coercion.”

“It’s safety,” argues Natasha. “Tony, listen to reason. Steve’s not going to do it unless it’s necessary, you know him.”

“You tell me to get out of your way and put on the suit,” says Tony savagely, pointing his finger at his mate’s chest, squaring up to the alpha in a way that makes Harley’s instincts scream at him to _run_. “I’m safer in the suit, anyway.”

“Safer in the suit and completely able to ignore me,” agrees Steve, tone hard. 

“That’s SOP for us, babe,” Tony informs him, eyes and expression darkening even more. “You’ve worked around it on literally every other mission we’ve ever run.”

“I’ve worked with it,” corrects Steve. He considers Tony for a long moment. Harley knows Peter’s holding his breath, too. “It’s still a handicap I don’t like, and I don’t think we can afford handicaps right now.”

“Well, you want me unsuited, if this goes bad? Unsuited, I’m one million percent more vulnerable. Unsuited, I’m just an omega with some badass hand-to-hand skills, courtesy of a part-time Red Room trainer.” His tone is bitterly self-mocking and Steve’s eyes narrow, considering Tony’s very good point, Harley hopes.

“Oh, I never achieved that,” says Natasha brightly. “The trainers were highly specialized. I was an operative generalist, only.”

“Point ignored,” observes Tony. “You got a better plan for keeping me safe, speak up, anyone.”

“I have superpowers,” says Peter quietly, into the silence.

Steve whirls to face him. “What?!” Harley agrees, _What?!_

“I have superpowers, that don’t depend on a suit. I can heal, I can react, my avoidance time is faster than yours, faster than Natasha’s. He might be at your level, but he’s not at _mine_. I don’t have to wear filters, half the time you won’t let me turn them on when we head out, anyway.” That’s true, thinks Harley. That’s all really true. But it’s also, there’s no way-

“No way,” says Tony firmly. “If it’s too dangerous for _me_ , it’s way too dangerous for-”

“No,” agrees Steve, curtly. “Not doing it, pup.” 

Harley sighs out a breath, glad that’s over, then. What a crazy idea, thanks for the heart attack, Peter.

“I’m only still a pup because getting pregnant would severely impact my usefulness at kicking badguy ass,” Peter says nonchalantly, his eyes flicking between the pair. Harley notes that Steve doesn’t interrupt him to correct his language. “I could have been a full adult years ago, if I’d wanted to stop patrolling and start whelping.”

“Excuse you, I said ‘no way,’ did you miss that, somehow?” asks Tony angrily. “We’re done talking about this.”

“Omega said, if anyone had a better plan, to speak up,” reminds Peter quietly. Harley breathes in quickly, trying to be silent about it. Peter _never_ pushes. “My plan is better.”

There’s absolute silence in the room. Harley’s gaze darts from Steve to Peter to Tony, to Steve again. Steve is glaring down at Peter, and Peter is standing there, arms loose, wrists turned to face Steve, the perfect picture of a standing supplicant omega before his alpha. Harley holds his breath, hoping Steve won’t fall for it, tell him _no_ , Alpha.

Why is nobody _saying_ anything?

“No,” says Tony, again, but his voice is quieter, less certain. “Steve, he’s just a pup.”

“And you’re Omega,” says Peter, in that same quietly insistent voice. “Pack’s rules, we can’t risk you anyway.”

“You risk me every mission,” says Tony angrily.

“We’re an adrenaline junkie Pack,” agrees Peter, and he’s so calm, thinks Harley wildly. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it? “So we let you take calculated risks. But not this time. There’s too many variables.”

“You don’t even know what to do with a male alpha,” sneers Tony.

Natasha snorts, “Please.” Just that, just _please_ , but it fills up the whole room with all the things she’s not saying, about how Tony sometimes doesn’t handle alphas all that great, about how he’s been declared a menace to society, about how no alpha in their right mind was offering to heatpartner him until Steve, even though Tony’s scent is so universally delicious that cheap knock-offs are sold on the black market for thousands of dollars per ounce. The subtext is so insulting that Tony actually rocks back from it, just a little, just a flinch. Harley winces for him.

“I-I could,” offers Bruce, hesitantly. 

“Yeah, _no,_ ” says Peter, still calm, still so damn calm, eyes locked on Steve’s face. “I don’t think we want to do a bait-and-switch on the guy we’re trying to flip to our side. I’m still me, no matter what _he_ does. Hulk’s a faulty alpha who’ll probably kill him, if he gets violent with you. No offense.”

“None taken,” sighs Bruce.

“Steve, just, the suit,” says Tony quietly. Harley winces again, because it’s clear he already thinks he’s beaten on this one. “It’s a good plan.”

“Mine is better,” says Peter stubbornly.

There’s another long moment of silence. Harley has no idea how Peter’s not sliding to his knees under the combined weight of Alpha’s gaze and Omega’s glare. 

“It is,” agrees Steve slowly, and all the air leaves Harley’s lungs in a hiss.

“Steve, seriously,” tries Tony. Steve shakes his head and switches his gaze to Tony, his eyes just a little bleak. “ _Hell_ ,” swears Tony with feeling.

“I’ll listen,” Alpha tells him. “I’ll listen, Tony, if you can come up with a better plan. But your current plan? Not safe enough. The pup’s right, you’re too important to the Pack to risk like that, and his reaction time is the best of our entire unit.”

“He could get- I mean, the guy is a murder machine, Steve,” protests Tony, but even Harley winces because that’s not a great argument. Where’s all of Tony’s genius arguments, thinks Harley wildly. Where’s Omega’s genius brain, Peter can’t go out there, can’t be used as _bait._

“Half of the missions I’m sent on, I get hurt,” says Peter calmly. “The Avengers don’t get called in to rescue kittens. It’s always murder machines or murder aliens or murder _agencies_.”

Steve _nods_ , his eyes locked on Tony’s face, now. “Your plan is to use an omega as bait, see how that changes his response to us. Well, Tony, unless you can come up with a different solution, Peter’s the right omega for the job.”

Peter’s shoulders square up a bit, but otherwise he makes no noise. His eyes haven’t left Alpha’s face, like they’re glued there, like he can’t handle even glancing at Tony right now, and Harley can’t blame him. Frankly, Harley’s impressed they’re not _closed_. His eyes want to squeeze shut and he doesn’t even have a horse in this race.

“You can’t be serious,” Tony spits.

“Deadly serious,” states Steve.

“Deadly is right,” huffs Tony.

“You can hold a suit for him, on the perimeter,” Harley hears himself say. They all turn to look at him, so he continues, “Like when, I mean, when you got me, in the tree. Tony, you could be ready to grab him, if things get that bad, with one of the suits.”

Steve nods. “That’s a good evac plan. Tony?”

Tony snorts, shaking his head.

Steve slides closer, that last one step between them. He skims his hands up slowly, threading them through Tony’s hair, tilting his Omega’s chin up to face him. Tony’s eyes squeeze shut and Harley’s heart is pounding, watching them, because this moment shouldn’t be seen by others, it shouldn’t. But he can’t look away as Steve whispers, softly, “It’s this or I have you take out Jersey in a Heatwave again, Tony. We can’t leave him out there if his conditioning is failing.”

Tony snorts, not opening his eyes as he mutters, “You couldn’t fuck me hard enough in a Heatwave to keep me, is what you’re worried about. Five day orgy, Thor’s going to slide in while you’re sleeping.”

“I’d kick my game up a notch,” Steve tells him, his voice just a little growly, a little rougher than usual, but there’s amusement in it for the first time. “I’m not worried.”

Tony snorts again, his eyes fluttering open to glare up at Alpha. “You’re not going to do it without my agreement, are you?” he accuses.

“Nope,” says Steve.

“Gonna make me act like an adult, concede a fight when I know I’m beat,” grouses Tony. Harley can’t believe that they’re all still- haven’t they been listening to his data? They can’t seriously- the guy is a murder machine, Natasha is afraid of him and Natasha literally _smiled_ the last time Loki brought an army to take out Australia. This can’t be the plan.

“Or come up with a better plan,” offers Steve. “I’m open to better plans, Tony.”

Tony hisses up at him and then leans forward for a short kiss. “Fuck you,” he says lovingly, when they part. “For listening to one of my goddamn ideas for once.”

“Oh, I listen to them all the time, I just usually don’t think they’re tactically sound,” Steve tells him, his eyes serious but his mouth twitching. “You really like blowing things up as if property damage doesn’t cost actual money, Tony.”

“I do,” sighs Tony, stepping back and slotting a glare over at Peter. “Fine, you can stick your neck out on this one. A suit literally two blocks away, hovering, ready to snap you up and programmed only to fly home, you understand me?”

Peter nods, solemnly, nothing in his bearing indicating he’s thrilled to win. “Yes, Omega.”

“Ack, don’t you ‘yes, Omega,’ me right now,” threatens Tony. “ _Literal_ insubordination, don’t think I won’t remember this, pup.”

“Ah, yes, Tony,” says Peter uncertainly.

“Stop, you’re the worst,” Tony tells him, grabbing him into a headlock and rubbing his knuckles against Peter’s scalp. Determined-relieved-marshmallow fills the air as Peter struggles half-heartedly in his grip. “I can even see that you don’t actually want to do this, how can I stay mad at you, you’re the absolute _worst_.”

“Sorry, Omega,” says Peter unsteadily.

“What, for being such an amazingly perfect sacrificial goat?” teases Tony, but there’s still an underlying bitterness behind the words that makes Harley flinch. “Yeah, I don’t think so. No apologies for being amazing, remember?”

“I remember, Tony,” says Peter, as Tony releases him and he straightens up.

“Well, shit, okay,” says Sam. “Let’s assume this works and we bring the murder machine home. We are going to need serious support in de-programming him.”

Steve and Tony exchange a glance. “We have to,” Steve says.

Tony shakes his head. “It is not my day, today,” he sighs. “Fine, yes, call her.”

“Call who?” asks Harley, because it’s bad enough that they read each other’s minds fifty percent of the time.

“The Scarlet Witch,” sighs Natasha.

 _Oh._ “Damn,” says Harley, shocked. “Ain’t she pregnant? And, uh, retired? And, uh-”

“Language,” sighs Alpha.

“Not. My. Day,” groans Tony, flopping down onto the couch.

~~~

It’s just a mission, just like every other Avengers mission ever, Tony reassures himself. The kid’s not in any additional danger this time out. He’ll be fine. Steve will be right there, Natasha will be right there, _Tony_ will be right there, ready with the evac suit. It doesn’t feel like any other mission ever.

For one thing, Peter’s definitely not dressed for it.

After much debate- most of which Peter had won, he’s had months to think of this, and he’s put an appalling amount of thought into his own sacrifice- Peter is dressed in simple and deceptively casual black jogging pants and a white t-shirt that declares him World’s Smallest Giant. The pants are actually a pair of Natasha’s, a Stark one-size-actually-fits-all set she uses regularly to work out, and the shirt is Steve’s favorite sleep shirt. The kid reeks of his alphas, exactly as Tony’d suggested to Steve earlier.

The Scarlet Witch is enroute from England, on the Quinjet. Sam offered to play chauffeur and bring her up to speed. Well, bring _them_ up to speed because there’s always her brother, too, and they both of them absolutely hate Tony, which is just great, just the kind of company he always looks forward to entertaining in his den. This is not his fucking day, in _spades_.

“Jesus, I feel like a pimp,” mutters Tony, rubbing Peter’s scentpads with his own, over and over again, the pup’s smooth cheek gliding against his slightly roughened one. Vanilla and marshmallow are a mouthwatering combination, he notes with mild exasperation. He and Peter together could probably take out all of New York in a Heatwave. 

“I definitely feel like a whore,” sighs Peter unhappily, but he shifts and starts the process on the other side. “We’re positive this is the best way to send me out there?”

“Look,” snarls Harley, which is a little surprising, Tony’ll admit it, “I’m doing the best I can, it’s not like this has ever been done before, it’s all _guesses._ I _think_ he’s following them based on their scent, and I think he, like, he might be remembering Natasha or whatever, and Alpha’s _Alpha_ , but who the fuck knows?”

Peter and Tony share an eyebrows-raised shocked glance. Steve wraps his arms around the unhappy omega from behind him and nuzzles Harley’s scent pads, releasing a small hit of scared-annoyed-pineapple into the surrounding air. _Huh_ , thinks Tony. That’s a little unusual. Harley’s usually fine with mission prep.

“He’s going to be just fine,” rumbles Steve. “I’ll be right there. He’s been training for combat since before he got his scent in.”

Harley makes an unhappy noise and rubs back against Steve’s cheek, clearly sniffing the Alpha for comfort. Not his usual M.O. at all, Tony notes. _Interesting_.

“I’ll be right with him,” Steve repeats. “He might get a little banged up if this guy flips out, but he’s got the web-shooters for guy-containment, I think we can get the guy here, and once he’s here, we’ll throw him in the Hulk out room and work on helping him break free. If Natasha can do it, this guy can, too.”

He sounds so confident Tony can almost ignore all of the yeah-buttals that swell up. _Yeah, but what if-_ Tony shakes his head. 

Peter tells Harley, with a stiff tone, “I’m not a damsel, Harls. I can handle myself in a fight.”

“I’m not a damsel, either,” shoots back Harley, “but I still got treed. You’re going out there all omega’d up to the max, looking like that, I mean, you need lip gloss, buddy, and leave your shoes off, you know?”

Peter smiles. Tony loves it, it’s sharp and sassy and _he totally taught the pup that one,_ and he says, “That’s the _point_ , Harley.”

“Yeah, well, the point sucks,” snaps Harley. That brutal honesty, honed to a razor edge? Also Tony’s good work, there, he suspects, sighing.

“If you have a better plan,” says Steve quietly, pulling Harley even closer, tighter to his chest, and Tony suspects him of a mini-rumble from the way Harley’s eyes go a little soft, “we’re all ready to hear it.”

“I don’t,” mutters Harley, rolling his eyes and leaning back, pressing back. “I just hate this one.”

“Fair enough,” agrees Tony easily, giving Peter’s cheek one last rub for good luck before pulling away a little. “I hate it, too. Anything you can think of to add to Peter’s safety?”

“...No,” mutters Harley, wiggling a little back into Steve’s bulk, giving a sniff again. And that’s… that’s very interesting, thinks Tony, putting a pin in that line of thought for now.

“Well, then, let’s go gather some more data,” says Tony, slapping Peter on the hip. “I feel like a mom right before prom. Do you need a corsage? I feel like he should be the one supplying one, but I can get it, who knows what the hell he’d buy you, and you’re not walking around Jersey with Walmart flowers on your wrist.”

Peter rolls his eyes and tells Steve, “I think that’s the last thing, unless you want me in lip gloss.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, no,” says Steve with feeling, a blush sliding up his cheeks. “Very _much_ no.”

Peter snorts and Tony teases his mate, “I have some, though, and Harley has a point, it’d be the sprinkle on top.”

“No,” says Steve adamantly, adding just enough alpha voice to make Tony and Peter burst into laughter.

“Yeah, no, you’re bad enough,” says Harley, pulling away from Steve, to gesture at Peter’s tight pants and loose t-shirt. He sniffs the air, “I mean, just _smell_ you. You smell like a goddamn _bakery_.”

Tony’s watching Steve’s eyes, so he sees the instinctive alpha response to that statement followed by immediate Steve horror. It’s amazing and it sets him off laughing again.

Poor Alpha. Poor, sweet, summer Alpha. He has no idea what’s going to happen when Peter actually lets loose for once.

Tony kind of feels sorry for New Jersey’s alpha population, actually, with Steve and Natasha running bodyguard duty on this one. Gonna be a rough night out there.  
  


~~~

The Quin’s engines cycle down as silently as they’d cycled up at the Tower. The parking lot is mostly empty, which is a testament to how shitty Applebee’s is, Steve figures. He’s only been there the once, but Tony’d bitched the entire time and after taking a look at the menu prices, Steve had conceded, okay, his mate might have a point. Nothing they’d been served had been made from scratch, including the _homestyle_ chicken thing he’d ordered. Homestyle, his ass. Completely resistible.

Peter pulls forward from Natasha’s arms as Steve jumps down from the cockpit and nods at him. The suit fires up to follow them.

“You ready, kid?” asks Steve, zipping up his black hoodie. Natasha shrugs into hers, stretching her shoulders a little, preparing for this patrol.

Peter swallows, and then nods. It’s a warm enough night, he’ll be fine in the t-shirt, thinks Steve, as he cracks the back hatch and they fan out. The suit takes off for some nearby perch which is fine. Steve wants eyes in the sky, anyway.

Peter smells like five bakeries, Steve notes, forced to swallow, himself, as he walks past the pup. No wonder Natasha was wrapped around him for the short flight. Steve wants to wrap around him, he smells absolutely incredible. 

The night is just stilling towards dark. There’s few people out as they head to the known neighborhoods where the assassin has tailed them in the past. Steve can barely scent the weeks-old scent of stale brownies, but Natasha nods for them to move left with such confidence, he believes her.

During their last confirmed contact with the assassin, he’d been right behind them, upwind, Steve had never caught more than a faint trace of stale brownies, which left him wanting to sneeze and made him bury his face in Tony’s neck the second they hit the Tower’s pack-scented air. So he has to rely on Natasha’s ability to scent even the smallest traces of the assassin’s suppressed scent and guide them in.

  
~~~  
  


They walk for hours. They cross and re-cross their trail, and Steve is pretty sure the guy is taking the bait, following them, because at the last of the re-crossings Peter had sniffed the air and cocked his head and said, “This way,” with a nod to the right. They’d followed him, Natasha and Steve, and now here they were, staring down an alley.

“You guys split left and right,” mutters Peter. “I’ll go ahead.”

Steve twitches. That’s been the plan the whole time, to let Peter split off and get approached, but now that it’s time to implement it, he _doesn’t like the plan_. All of his instincts flip over to enraged, just thinking about letting the pup walk down that darker alley without him, smelling like he does.

“Mine,” growls Steve, and _whoa_ , that was not in the plan at all, goddamnit, hindbrain. Get yourself together, Steve.

“Yours,” agrees Peter, tilting his head, baring his throat. Yeah, that’ll work, thinks Steve, flooded with relief that at least someone here knows how to keep them all on-mission. Good pup. “Yours, Alpha,” he repeats calmly, as Steve wrestles with the urge to, well, wrestle the pup to the ground.

After one more deep breath, Steve takes him up on his offer, nipping at the pup’s scentpads. He doesn’t usually, but fuck, there’s so much Tony on the kid tonight and he’s been smelling Tony for hours now. It helps, fuck, it really does help.

When he pulls back, the pup’s pupils are blown and he’s breathing raggedly, and Natasha has shifted to stand several meters away already. The marshmallow wafting around is incredibly turned on. _Woops_.

“Okay,” grunts Steve. “Be good. Call if you need me.” Right. Scamper off, little omega, before your Alpha fucking breeds you in the street. Jesus, get ahold of yourself, Steve. He turns abruptly away, berating himself because _Jesus_. Stupid honeypot mission, he fucking hates when Tony’s idea is the best one, it’s always something weird like this.

He cocks his head, listening carefully, when he’s out of reach of the omega’s scent. “Well, let’s hope he’s out there, and hungry,” he sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends. I adopted a homeless family soooo things at home have gotten a little tight in terms of money and time (I picked up extra hours at a couple of my jobs to afford the food bills, jeebus can teenagers eat). That means my writing time is, uh, severely curtailed.
> 
> Don't hate me. I'm trying to do a good thing and it's just until they get their feet under them. Couple of months tops. I promise I've got some stuff in beta that I can post in the coming weeks to keep you going and I've got so much written in my head, I'm not abandoning anything. AND I'm writing little bits in the corners of my day.
> 
> Remember to be the change you want to see in the world. Be nice.
> 
> Looking for a hit of this universe while you wait for me?! Check out Orchidaexa’s Daredevil, Deadpool, and Spidey story, written in this AU: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073085


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